


Find Our Way Back Home

by DarkHeartInTheSky



Series: Based on Bible Verses [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Drabble, Episode: S11e18 Hell's Angels, M/M, Swearing, blatant abuse of italics, episode coda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-09
Updated: 2016-04-09
Packaged: 2018-06-01 07:43:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6509062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkHeartInTheSky/pseuds/DarkHeartInTheSky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matthew 5:4<br/>Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Find Our Way Back Home

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from the song "Wherever is your heart" by Brandi Carlile. You need listen to it, it's got such destiel feels.

 

For a blissful, wonderful, beautiful second, Dean had seen Cas. For the first time since Dean and Cas barged through Hell and into the Cage, Dean saw Cas, and it brought an ache to his chest when he remembered how different Cas looked from Lucifer, even though it was the same face. It was proof of what he had said to Sam earlier that day. It wasn’t a vessel, it was _Cas._

                And _Cas_ had looked at him from over the holy fire, disoriented and unsure on his feet.  

                _“Dean? What’s going on?”_

And Dean had hoped, had hoped and prayed with every drop of blood in his body and every ounce of faith in his soul—and then…and then…

                And then Cas had slipped through his fingers, just like in Purgatory, and it was Lucifer again, all smiles, those sardonic, toothy grins, and cheap jokes, languid body language that was too relaxed to be Cas. Dean thought of every joke he ever made about how Cas needed to loosen up, pull that metal rod out his ass, maybe crack a joke every now and again, at least smile once in a while.

                _Never again,_ Dean thought, swallowing a mouthful of warm whiskey, savoring the burn on his throat. His lips were cracked and dry, and the alcohol burned the soft skin there.

                Before, he could fool himself. He could lay awake at night and in the middle of his mantra of prayers, believe that Cas hadn’t actually consented, that Lucifer had tricked Cas the same way Dean tricked Sam.

                But Dean had told Cas, had screamed his voice hoarse until tears burned at his eyes, expel him, Cas, kick him out, expel him, expel him, expel him!

                And Lucifer laughed and clicked his tongue. _I think he’s happy with the arrangement. I mean, he did invite me in and all._

                Dean hadn’t wanted to believe him. Lucifer was the devil, king of lies. He had to be lying. He had to be.

                But…Dean knew he wasn’t. There was something in Lucifer’s eyes, something underneath the bravado, the thin smiles and taunting quips, that was utter honesty.

                So Cas did actually let the devil down his throat, and Dean was such a shitty friend that he didn’t even notice. Christ, Lucifer was in the bunker, inside the walls of their _home_ , and Dean didn’t notice. Dean thought he was confiding in Castiel about his fear of Amara, when he was really confiding in Lucifer.

                And he had all the clues too. Cas would never suggest using him as _bait_ for fuck’s sake. That should’ve been clue forty that something was wrong. How could he have been so blind?

                Dean was envious of Crowley, because that smarmy dick got to speak with Cas, and all he had to say was “Lucifer’s really got his hooks in him” like Dean didn’t already fucking know that.

                Dean sighed and finished the last of his whiskey. He tilted the bottle all the way up, until he was sure every last drop was finished, and then he smashed it against the floor.

                Dean winched and hoped it didn’t wake Sam up. He wasn’t in the mood for another heart to heart. And his throat was stuffed full of worry and regret, he wasn’t sure if he was even capable of speaking. Amara left with Lucifer, left with _Cas_ and the hand of God didn’t work and they were all fucked to hell; but if they were going to die, Dean wanted to die with Cas by his side, fighting, not stuffed inside his own meat suit, while Lucifer did God knows what to him.

                Dean sat there for a while longer, staring at the map on the table. Cas and Amara could be anywhere in the world right now; hell, they might even be on Earth.

                But he couldn’t give up. He told Sam they were going to get that idiot and bring him home and Dean meant it with every cell in his body. Cas was strong and too stubborn to die, and when they saved him (because they would save him) Dean was torn between wanting to punch him in the face or hold him so tight and never let go.

                God, he was such a shitty friend. It was so easy to think of Cas as something inhuman, something above trivial human necessities, like shelter, comfort, love. He knew now he was wrong. So horribly, terribly wrong. Because why else would Cas let the devil wear him to the prom, unless he didn’t feel loved? That was Dean’s fault. Cas was human, as far as Dean was concerned, and Cas needed those things as much as Dean needed them, as much as Sam did. And Dean rarely ever provided that to someone he considered family. That was something he had to rectify immediately.  

                _Castiel_ Dean prayed. _You better hang in there you stupid son of a bitch. We’re coming to get you._


End file.
